


they call me billy hargrove

by Rebldomakr



Series: good vibes only [4]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy and Steve love each other, Blood Kink, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub, Dorks in Love, Knife Kink, M/M, No beta we die like the slutty girl at the beginner of a slasher, References to a lot of 80s horror movies, Rough Sex, Serial Killer Fetishization, Steve's Billy's prettiest boy, and serial killers, degradation kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-15 14:47:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29437746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rebldomakr/pseuds/Rebldomakr
Summary: “They call me Billy Hargrove,”His Camaro’s almost over the curb. It would be, if he didn’t care as much as he does about taking care of his car that he’s put back together more than once now. Billy’s grinning, though, flashing his whites as the engine grumbles eagerly to fire back up to full strength.aka, Billy’s got a thing for horror movies and serial killers and Steve
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Series: good vibes only [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1658224
Comments: 2
Kudos: 60





	1. dance like it's prom night

**Author's Note:**

> unbetaed unless you count myself at 4am after work

“They call me Billy Hargrove,”

His Camaro’s almost over the curb. It would be, if he didn’t care as much as he does about taking care of his car that he’s put back together more than once now. Billy’s grinning, though, flashing his whites as the engine grumbles eagerly to fire back up to full strength.

Steve – the prettiest damn boy Billy’s ever had in his entire fucking life, as short as it is, really – just laughs and shakes his head. He knows this scene. It’s something Billy’s being doing a lot of. Showing him movies, then trying to reenact a scene whenever he wants to get his dick wet. It’s kind of, really, cute.

“Yeah?” Steve’s still smiling. “How old are you, _Billy_?”

“Old enough.” His tongue flicks out, over his bottom lip, and his ringed fingers begin to drum against the steering wheel. His dad’s class ring. His mom’s wedding ring. A handful of rings he’s stolen or managed to pay for. Silver and steel and gold, but all as flashy and not just like Billy is.

“I’ve heard about guys like you.” Steve sighs, shaking his head, suppressing his smile. “Running over pretty boys on the sidewalk,”

“Some boys,” Billy says. “But if they’re really pretty – I give them a ride,”

“Straight to Hawkins High?” Steve pushes to his tippy-toes. He makes his eyes a little more wide, parts his mouth, tries to get that _dumb teenage girl_ vibe that Billy always talks about from the movies he likes – and likes it the most when Steve plays perfectly along.

“Straight to Hawkins High,” Billy agrees.

The scene—

It’s Hawkins High, now, like it isn’t nine o’clock at night on a Friday. They sneak in through the gymnasium because they know the head coach always leaves the side door unlocked and everyone always forget to check it. It isn’t the first time they’ve sneaked their way into the high school Steve’s graduated from a year ago, and Billy’s graduating from soon enough. It definitely won’t end well if they’re caught, for multiple reasons, but it’s what’s called for, for the scene they’re playing out.

Steve’s walking down an empty hallway. His heart’s pounding in his chest, hummingbird trapped in a fist style.

“Well, well,”

Hands reach out from behind him. Billy’s getting really good at creeping up, now. He likes to tell Steve that he’s the practice for the big times. Breaking into houses and raping the elderly and youthful alike.

“What’s a decent place like this, doing around a bitch like you?” Billy says, a knife – that Steve trusts enough to be blunt, or wielded in a way that it won’t cut badly – pushing against Rich Boy Harrington’s throat.

“I-“ Steve starts and stops, swallowing spit because he’s already drooling. He can feel Billy’s dick pressing against his back. “God, fuck, I don’t know,”

“Filthy fucking whore,” Billy growls. “Not even gonna fight? Just going to take it?”

“What’cha gonna do? If I fight back?” Steve twists slightly and the knife digs in harder. He can feel a sting, now, probably no more than just a red line with almost microscopic bubbles of blood dotting it. “Would you kill me?”

“I would,” Billy agrees. “A knife through your fucking skull. Just gonna fuck that mouth of yours, until you die. So? You’re going to be good for me, right?”

“I will—”

“Fucking swear it!”

“I swear,” Steve says it immediately, panting like a goddamn dog in heat already. He doesn’t know why he’s out of breath. He’s starting to feel like he’s run a mile and he can’t pull himself together.

“Swear to Satan,” Billy hisses.

Oh.

Steve had been thinking maybe he’s just forgot something about the movie, but. Billy’s went and changed the scene on him. He’s okay with that. It’s just as much fun.

“I swear—I swear to Satan,” Steve says.

“That’s a good boy,”

The knife moves back, but a fist clenches itself into Steve’s hair. He’s dragged by the grip down the hall, until Billy finds a door that isn’t locked. When he’s pulled in, he’s also thrown. Steve couldn’t kept himself from falling, but he doesn’t. He lets his feet trip over themselves, until he falls hard onto the vinyl floor. He almost hits a desk.

Steve looks up and looks straight into Billy’s eyes.

Billy, in his denim jeans and steel-toed boots, holding onto a knife with a shiny edge like he just sharpened it on a rock before he grabbed Steve in the first place off of the sidewalk. He’s wearing a black Member’s Only jacket – the one Steve gave him – too and black gloves. He looks like he’s trying not to leave behind any evidence.

He looks like Steve _is_ going to end up dead. At least, in the head.

“Spread those whore legs!” Billy snarls. “Hear me, bitch?”

It’s so fucking cliché, Steve thinks, even as he obeys.

Billy gets down on his knees like he’s about to pray, but instead of his hands joining together, one goes to grip Steve’s thigh and the other starts to drag his sharp knife up the denim of Steve’s jeans. It catches after a single second and Billy pushes it in. The knife’s definitely sharp, or maybe Billy just knows how to use it, because it doesn’t take much before the denim’s torn and falling open to reveal skin that hasn’t seen direct sunlight since summer ended. The hand grabbing his leg lets go to start pulling apart the denim by hand, until the only thing that’s left on Steve is the waistline and the belt threaded through the loops.

“Someone’s real eager for it, for me having to drag your ass around,” Billy says as he presses the flat of his knife against Steve’s boxers, right against his dick.

“Please,” Steve whimpers. “I—Stop. Please. I’ll do anything if you stop,”

“Not really believable. You’re just a slut, aren’t you?” Billy grunts. “Fucking pathetic,”

When Billy slaps Steve, it’s an actual shock. Makes him blink as his cheek stings and Steve, then, makes a soft noise. The kind that Billy really fucking likes.

“I can’t take this,” Steve begs.

It’s well enough under the guise of the game Billy likes to play, but it has to be understood.

Thank God – Satan? – it is, because Billy cuts through Steve’s boxers before forcing him to turn over, muttering shit like – _that’s a good bitch, fucking slut, you really fucking wrong this don’t you, fuck, fuck, fuck_ —

“Fuck!” Steve shouts out, when his cheek grinds against the floor and his head hits a desk’s corner leg.

Billy’s knife drags against his ass cheek. He says, “You being good for me?”

Steve nods.

“Speak up, bitch,” Billy slices up and right, until there’s a diagonal line cut into Steve’s back that begins to weakly bleed.

“I’m being good,” Steve whispers.

“There you go…” Billy’s definitely smiling, Steve knows without even needing to look. The knife’s blade stays cool against his skin as Billy’s fingers from his other hand sneak down, and in, testing the waters.

They’d had sex, like, not even a full six hours ago. It’s not like Steve’s really had a chance to clean up other than a quick shower. And he kind of knows when Billy’s in a mood of moods, so he fingered himself before he left home and went on the walk Billy had asked him to take.

It’s easier, when Billy doesn’t need to worry about giving him some weird fucking infection that’d be impossible to explain to a nurse.

Steve groans when three fingers sink into him. Billy doesn’t bother to try to find his prostate and he definitely doesn’t go anywhere near Steve’s dick which is, admittedly, fine. He likes this as much as Billy does—

He yelps, when Billy’s hand smacks hard onto his ass. Hitting an older bruise, one made earlier today, and Steve begins to shake as he tries to keep himself from moving away while listening to his instincts. He can’t listen to his instincts right now, because instincts are for survival and health and this, definitely probably, isn’t the most healthy fucking thing.

“Been thinking about your sweet fucking ass since I saw you,” Billy says. “Your mouth, too. After I knock you up, should fill up your stomach with my come,”

Steve thinks if Billy could, he’d come on everything Steve eats. Billy’s got a thing about that, something that’s just as weird as this, kind of.

Billy unbuckles his jeans and pulls down his zipper. There’s no waiting or talking or pausing before he’s spitting into his the palm of his hand, wetting his cock and seemingly incredibly reliant on the slick still on-in Steve.

The knife he placed, not touched for now, on Steve’s lower back so Billy can take a handful of hair while he guides his cock straight to Steve’s asshole.

Pushes in, in, and in, and Steve unashamedly moans.

When Billy bottoms out – it feels so quick and shameless, after, when he starts to fuck Steve.

It’s like, hard to think? And explain, in the moment, but after – yeah.

Billy fucks Steve like he’s trying to run away. He fucks like it’s the end of the world and this time, is going to be the last time, because there’s no food or water left and then they’ll be too weak to properly enjoy this. He fucks him like he loves him, hard and fast and all-consuming, until Steve’s feeling like he’s going to choke on his tongue and he doesn’t care if he dies, long as he dies with Billy buried inside of him.

The thing is about Billy’s cock is that it isn’t as long as Steve’s, but it’s thick. So fucking thick. It fills out, too, from when he’s soft and he’s thick while soft. It’s so nice to stare at, it’s so hard to stare at. Back when they were both in high school, showering after gym class, it didn’t take long before Steve’s head started to get filled with dreams of Billy’s cock.

“Prettiest damn faggot,” Billy grunts. “Fuck—”

When Billy starts getting breathless, means he’s close.

“Please, please,” Steve begs. “I need- I need more. Please!”

“Beg Satan for it, bitch.” A hand smacking his ass twice in a row, leaving skin stinging. The knife’s long clattered onto the floor, if Steve moves, maybe it’ll pierce his side and he’ll bleed to death.

It’s a nice idea.

Steve closes his eyes and moans.

“Please! Please, just, please, Satan, fuck, please, Billy!”

Billy’s hand mercifully begins to messily push against Steve’s cock. It’s even filthier, now, precum oozing like a teenager’s first wet dream splashing inside of his boxers, and it’s slick and wet over Billy’s black gloves.

_Does come stain leather?_

“Come for me, fucking bitch,” Billy snarls. “Scream!”

Steve obeys, of course he does, why wouldn’t he? He screams and he shakes apart, finally, as his stomach implodes and explodes at once and he’s pouring out onto the un-patterned vinyl floor.

Billy keeps going, until Steve’s increasingly over sensitive body keeps tensing and squeezing, but he treats Steve like the fleshlight he’s called the former prom king in the past.

“That’s it, that’s it,” Billy grunts. He slams himself in _one_ more time, that’s it, and Steve swears he can feel it.

When the scene ends—

Billy pulls out and pushes the knife off away from them both, before rolling Steve over onto his back. He bends down and kisses him, licks right into Steve’s mouth even though he’s not getting anything back.

Steve’s too relaxed, right now, and he’s beginning to feel sore like he always does when Billy gets too intense.

“You gonna be my daddy?” Steve says breathlessly, eventually, when Billy’s moved on from his mouth to biting at his neck.

“I’ll take care of you,” Billy agrees. “You gonna be my baby boy, or my slut?”

“Baby.” Steve raises his arms, widening his eyes like he had earlier, and pouts his mouth.

Billy laughs. He kisses Steve’s chin.

“Let’s get going, baby. Leave the mess for the janitors to fuck with tomorrow,” He says.

“Naughty.” Steve turns his head and kisses the air where Billy’s cheek had been, like, a second ago.

Billy just laughs, again.


	2. war pigs

It’s the 1980s and American culture is all about the glam, glory, gold, and gore. Heavy metal blasts out of teenagers’ stereos and Ozzy Osbourne is pulling out some of his wildest moves, from pissing on the Alamo to biting the heads of flying animals. It’s the decade of the Filthy Fifteen. It’s sex and Satan and all of the things that parents are clutching their pearls about, even decades when history performs a rerun and the teenagers have become moms and dads confused at their children’s heresy. It’s the birth of serial killers and Parental Advisory warnings.

And Billy Hargrove is like a god in the 1980s.

It’s 1985.

Back in California – they finally caught the Night Stalker, a man named Richard Ramirez. Billy’s dad sent him a copy of _The Stranger Beside Me_ by Ann Rule. And, also, his dad let him go to a Judas Priest concert just outside of Indianapolis before the school year started back up again. Susan let him buy a new leather jacket when they went school clothes shopping, though that’s probably because he convinced Max to at least try on the dress her mom picked out.

Sitting in the driver’s seat of his blue 1979 Chevrolet Camaro z28, with an engine he rebuilt himself, thank you, so it could actually pick up to harder speeds, and armed tires he bought after working all summer the year he got the car as a birthday gift, Billy’s got Black Sabbath swooning out of the stereo and he feels like he’s on top of the world. He got Katy Carpenter’s little brother Henry “Harry for Short” to suck his dick just last night when she held a party in her parent’s backyard barn over the first weekend since school stared back up again.

It’s better than what he’s been feeling.

Billy knows eventually his dad’s going to toughen up again, but for now he’s riding on the shock that Neil felt when he walked into a hospital room and saw his only son bandaged, broken, and hooked up to a half-dozen instruments just to keep him alive. It was a miracle that he healed as quickly as he did, summed up to modern medicine and not the weird shit he goes to have tested every two weeks at a government-run hospital. His dad still rags on him pretty hard for respect and responsibility, but he hasn’t even raised his hand and he doesn’t bitch so much when Billy gets biting and mean to Max.

Instead, Neil actually stands up for him against Max – who definitely got over Billy’s near-death very quickly once she realized that she didn’t have anything to hold over him anymore – and even told her, very firmly, “Billy’s growing into a man, now. You need to learn to respect a man or you’re not going to have a good time out in the world, especially not finding a husband. Isn’t that right, Susan?”

With a hand-rolled cigarette between his lips, Billy leans back in his seat and watches the Family Video parking lot.

Steve Harrington pops out of his car, a new car, actually, and Billy already knows how expensive the car is and it makes him want to snort. He knows Steve’s a rich kid, learned all about it from Tommy Hagan, but he’s beginning to think it’s even more than what he was told. But Steve’s pretty – pretty with his bouncy brown hair that he definitely styles, plump mouth and, yeah, Billy’s pretty sure he can see the lip gloss on Steve’s mouth even from where he sits in his car.

God.

Billy remembers when it was still inside of him. He – and it – fought constantly about a lot of things. Like, he wanted to control his own body and it really disagreed with that. And, also, how it thought about the lusts that ran through Billy’s head. It encouraged anything a bit more bloody, very proud of him when he came up with something that it recognized as perfectly cruel – and cruelty was a new thing to it, but it loved cruelty very quickly – and less proud when Billy wanted to use his dick. It thought lust, actual lust, was pointless if it didn’t mean the production of offspring or a furthering of means.

“It feels good,” Billy remembers himself telling it.

And it replying, “Does it? Or do you only think it does? Wouldn’t you rather use something sharp to puncture the woman with?”

It’s the 1980s. Deviancy is in, as long as it isn’t gay. Girls just giggle and blush and give in whenever Billy brings up something leaning on risqué, to them. Sometimes they get really into it, sometimes they only just deal with it. He wonders how much Steve Harrington would deal or enjoy what Billy wants to do to him.

The song switches. Billy puts his car into drive and pulls out of the liquor store parking lot, which he’s been sitting in for at least ten minutes since he ran in to grab a bottle of whiskey and a pouch of tobacco. He drives across the street, into the parking lot of the Family Video. He parks, finishes his cigarette, then pulls out his keys. He might as well get a movie to watch while he washes down the whiskey tonight in preparation for school tomorrow, right?

Inside of the video store, he wanders around between the aisles. He watches from the corner of his eye to see Steve hop over the counter and land behind, laughing when he knocks into nerdy girl that Billy’s pretty sure is a dyke. She refused him, once, and Billy might have spread around some nasty rumors to get back at her. It never bothered her, though, which was fine because by then Billy had moved on, but, fuck. Now he really doesn’t like her.

Since when has she and Steve been do buddy-buddy?

“You hear about the Schmidt family?”

An older woman, a housewife probably judging by her new but unstylish clothes, whispers to another as they sort through the romance section.

“Oh, goodness, yes. It was on the morning paper,” The other woman replies, shaking her head. “All of them dead, except for the son. It’s awful. Just— awful,”

“I heard the young girl was…” She leans in closer to whisper at a lower voice, “Raped!”

Billy’s dick twitches.

Quickly, he grabs a random horror movie off of the shelf and heads straight for the counter as soon as the girl’s gone and it’s just Steve.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the town’s most favorite pretty boy?” Billy teases, smiling.

Steve snorts. “You’re the only one who calls me that,”

“Better than ‘The Hair’,” Billy’s been coming around pretty frequently. He wouldn’t call himself Steve’s friend, but it’s not like they completely avoid each other. They’ve even hung out sometimes. “Check out, bitch.” He tosses the container onto the counter.

“Jesus—“

“Yes?” Billy leans in, grinning, sharp, and Steve blushes just like how he likes.

“You’re not Jesus,” Steve tells him. “You’re committing blasphemy,”

“I do a lot worse.” Billy reaches out, poking Steve’s chest. “Hey, why don’t we meet up tonight? I got some whiskey. We can split the bottle and watch this movie,”

Steve holds up the cheesy slasher that Billy picked out, then looks back at him. He sighs, like agreeing is a chore, but he’s smiling, too. “Fine. I’ll come,”

“Thanks, babe.” Billy winks. “Your place!”

It’s the 1980s.

Billy’s got Motley Crue playing when he pulls up at the Harrington place in Loch Nora. He told his dad he’s hanging out with a friend and he’d be back before curfew, but his dad said, “Don’t worry about it, son,” After telling Max that she couldn’t go out on a school night because she’s gotten a C on her last math test. Billy, who has gotten straight A’s since he was a freshman under his dad’s thumb, finds senior year just like the rest and is, thus, a good example of what Max should aspire to be.

The Harrington house is massive and the driveway is long. Billy pulls through the winding cement until he’s parked in front of the garage. Steve’s dad recently paid to have the garage expanded, construction is halfway done to turning it into a four-car space instead of just two. There’s a new gazebo out back, too, Billy knows. Trees surround the property, too, making it impossible for neighbors to see much to the sides and backyard – which, yeah, opens up to forest that Steve claims his dad owns parts of to make sure it’s never developed and their house remains perfectly on the edge between ‘part of Hawkins’ and ‘separate from Hawkins’.

The front door is open with Steve standing in the doorway before Billy’s even within six feet of it.

“Dude, your car is fucking outrageous,” Steve says.

Billy laughs. “Better than what you drive now,”

Even though, yeah, Steve’s car is way fucking nicer than his. It’s a fucking Porsche – it cost more than the house Billy lives in – that Steve’s dad handed down to him because he’d gotten it and decided he didn’t like it. Billy doesn’t even know what happened to Steve’s old BMW.

“How much did it even cost you to rebuild it, after…You know?” Steve asks, stepping aside to let Billy in. He closes the door and locks every lock – from the doorknob up to the chain.

“A lot,” Billy admits. “Made the government pay for like, a lot. They’re definitely covering my fucking college tuition, man, it’s kind of twisted funny,”

Steve shakes his head, smiling. “Come on, open up the whiskey and I’ll put the movie in,”

“Make some popcorn!” Billy urges.

Ten minutes later, Billy’s sitting on the living room floor with his back up against the couch. Steve’s walking into the room with two glasses and a bowl of popcorn, definitely melted with butter he threw into the microwave because Steve likes an insane amount of butter on his popcorn.

“Do you still have that popcorn maker your mom got you?” Billy asks, as Steve sits down next to him and passes over one of the glasses.

“Yeah, but it’s in the basement,” Steve says. “I used it like two times. I’m thinking about giving it to one of the nerds,”

“Fucking pedo,” Billy teases. “Luring kids in with popcorn instead of candy, now?”

“Who did you say that was, again?” Steve watches Billy pour out the whiskey, three fingers in each glass, before he suddenly remembers he didn’t put the movie in yet – Billy doesn’t know how to work the system that Steve’s dad had put into the living room entertainment center.

“Dean Corll, and he didn’t lure kids in with candy, he just handed it out,” Billy explains.

“Right, right. You know way too much about that freaky shit.” Steve puts in the VHS tape before sliding back to join Billy back on the floor, grabbing his whiskey glass and downing it all in one swallow.

Billy watches Steve’s throat, but he reacts immediately once the glass is down. He fills it back up to three fingers, winking when Steve just laughs and asks him, “You trying to get me drunk, Hargrove?”

“Depends. Are you a slutty girl that’s gonna spread her legs?” Billy winks.

“I’ll have you know, I’m an honest lady,” Steve says.

Billy drinks his glass and goes, slow, after. Waiting for Steve to swallow down more, and more, until the other man’s leaning up against him with half-lidded eyes and touchy-touching hands.

The movie – _The Initiation_ – is barely being paid attention to by the time to the first person is killed.

“You know what movie we should watch on Christmas?” Steve mumbles.

“What?” Billy turns his head, pressing his nose into Steve’s hair and smelling the hairspray.

“I have a copy of the _Dorm That Dripped Blood_ , I stole it from my cousin who got it from some weird friend of hers. She never even wanted it, but, I used it to try to get girls to sleep with me…They ended up being too scared. It, like, sucked. It’s not even a scary movie,” Steve keeps talking, even though his voice is low and his words are beginning to slur together.

Billy can’t tell if Steve’s drunk, tipsy, or just pretending to be a little on the sloppy side.

“Come on, let’s…” Steve’s hand ‘falls’ on Billy’s lap, grabbing at the belt buckle but his fingers not actually getting any grip. “It’s been so long,”

“It’s been, like, a week,” Billy tells him. “Come on, baby, let’s go up to your room,”

Steve nods. Definitely pretending to be tipsy-drunk, Billy thinks. Steve’s no lightweight, not even with a belly full of cheap, weak whiskey. Well— maybe Steve eat a bunch of bread before?

Billy, only a glass and a part in of the whiskey, helps Steve up onto his feet and gets him up the stairs to his room.

Steve’s room is a little on the ugly side with plaid wallpaper and matching plate fucking everywhere. It’s definitely hideous, but Steve insists that it was his mom who designed his room when he hit middle school and he’s never bother to have it redone. Who cares about a bunch of plaid, right? Billy does, but Steve’s house is safer to fuck around in than his.

Dropping the probably-drunk or at least getting drunker man onto the bed, Billy searches the room for their half-used jar os Vaseline.

“I fucked Tammy Thompson a couple days ago,” Steve confesses. “Don’t know- I don’t even know why I did it? It’s, like…My best friend, likes her, and I fucked her, and I don’t know why. Or, well, liked her, but she was easy and. She kept talking about you. I thought about you, but then I didn’t, but then I did. I’m sorry,”

Billy slides his belt out of the loops and tosses it to the floor. “I don’t care if you fuck someone else,” He says. Even if the idea makes him— upset. He just doesn’t want Steve to know that. “Long as you don’t care if I do,”

“I do,” Steve whines. “Please- I’m sorry. Don’t fuck anyone else. I’m sorry,”

“Get your clothes off, baby,” Billy says as he pushes his jeans button loose. “And we can play ambulance, yeah?”

“Ambulance?” Steve’s eyes close, even as he starts to messily push down his jeans without even trying to take off the belt.

Billy has to bend over and help, until the other man can kick his legs all the way until they’re bare with his boxers stuck around his knees. As he helps, he explains, “I start somewhere, like your dick, and I keep going, until you say red light,”

Steve laughs, grabbing at his shirt and twisting to get it off without sitting up. He almost rolls off of the bed. “Ambulances don’t stop at red lights, Billy,”

“Exactly!” Billy _coos_ , sounding weirdly like a teacher happily telling their student that they finally got an answer right and, yes, they’re just so proud of them for that. “You’re getting good at this, baby,”

Soon, Billy falls into the bed with Steve. Legs part like the sea and Billy slides in close, spitting in his hand and using it to try to wet his way into a glide between them.

Whenever they have sex – it goes one of two ways.

The first – sloppy and messy and something that leans bedsheets stained. Like, once, Billy pissed on Steve’s thighs and made him lay in for almost an hour before finally fucking him. Another time, they kissed until their mouths were both red and they had exchanged so much spit that Billy swore he could taste Steve on his molars for an hour after. Sometimes, it’s clothes torn by hand or with the help of Billy’s trusty pocket knife and then there’s blood stained somewhere on something, normally unluckily enough on something that has to be thrown or kept somewhere secret for Billy to jack off onto later.

The second – it’s slow and weirdly soft. They both take their time or at least act like they’ll break each other if they go too quick, too hard. Once, they fell into bed while they were both crying and just kissed each other until the salt was gone before gently rocking against one another. It never actually is sex as what sex should be, to Billy. When it’s soft and or slow, it’s not penetrative. It’s always kissing and grinding and crying and sweaty.

Laying next to Steve, Billy wants it to go the first time, but then he gets a kiss. Then another, and another, until Steve’s giggling and everything hard-rough-lust in Billy just evaporates.

“God, you’re such a fucking—“ Billy groans, shaking his head and Steve manages to kiss the end of his chin before he’s pushing the other man back down flat to the bed. “At least let me get off on you, baby,”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve nods.

Steve’s dick is barely even hard when Billy grinds.

“Thought we were gonna play ambulance?” Billy’s asked, by that man-boy with a mouth that’s as plump as his ass – and his hair, though as soon as Billy thinks that, it doesn’t even make any damned sense.

“Red light, green light?” Billy asks Steve.

And Steve hums, like he’s really thinking even though his head’s got as many thoughts as there are words in a picture book, and Billy loves that about him, truly, but sometimes it drags like a dull steak knife.

“Green,” Is eventually decided.

Thank fuck.

Billy spits into his hand again, uses it press his dick against Steve’s proper, again, and starts thrusting up against it.

Within seconds, Steve’s whining and mewling like a pornstar because he’s done up and drunk and fuck, yeah, he knows that Billy thinks it’s hot as fuck when Steve acts like some schoolgirl slut that’s asking for it in a cheesy porno.

“Come on, Billy, please, give it to me, I need it, I need it,” Steve gasps and moans. “I need your big cock in me, please, fucking- I wanna be full, baby— daddy, please, please,”

Billy leans down and quiets Steve with a kiss. It’s not time for that, he thinks. He likes this, right now, he feels very alone – alone with Steve because he’s never alone, he’s always got Steve in his head – and he wants to stay in the moment for just a bit longer. He’s suddenly scared sex would cut that short.

What does Steve Harrington always fucking do to him?

Billy – who doesn’t feel like Billy, right now – pulls from the breath-and-spit-stealing kiss to whisper, “Daddy loves you, Stevie,”

Steve, with an unsuppressed cry, comes apart. He squirts like a bitch, wetting the way for Billy a couple seconds later because Billy’s never short behind when Steve makes that adorable scrunched up face.

Deteriorated rocks becoming sand on a new beach, on a new island somewhere in the middle of the ocean where a volcano roared and spit underwater until its guts had solidified to shut it up – Billy kisses the corner of Steve’s mouth.

“Love you,” Billy murmurs.

Steve, with his eyes closed, smiles.

Fucker definitely wasn’t as drunk as he was acting. It makes Billy smile, too.

“Next time, let’s watch _Bloody Birthday_ ,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, adding onto this ‘verse? Shocking, I know! But I’m enjoying cheesy 80s horror movie and serial killer references, especially a cute little increasingly dependent relationship between Billy and Steve? I don’t even know where I’m going at this point though? 
> 
> Comment, validate me <3 but I still love all of you regardless. 
> 
> Catch me on twitter now - rebinghostface! I’d link but, like, I’m posting this on my tablet so

**Author's Note:**

> Helllooo! This is a self indulgent mess that's short but I love it and I wanted to post it. Been so long since I've written anything vaguely problematic...This isn't too bad, don't think I'll even get any hate messages or death threats from this one! 
> 
> Love y'all <3 thank you for reading :)


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